A Oneshot a Day
by Muffled Chimes
Summary: Keeps the boredom away! In which the author attempts to write a oneshot fic every day of August, using a number generator, a pairing, prompt and song list, and a lot of crazy inspiration. Check under summary for the pairing of the newest chapter.
1. Chapter 1

_August 1st ._

_Draco/Pansy – Fashionably Late – Girlfriend (Avril Lavigne)_

He's late.

The tempus charm hovering above Binns' desk indicates that it's been fourteen – no, fifteen minutes now, since the start of class. She's starting to wonder if he isn't coming. Every once in a while, her dark eyes flick to the door, hoping to see it open. But thus far, her hopes have been in vain, because no one has come through that door since the last person trickled into the classroom.

Binns has been droning on and on about the second Goblin war for what seems like much longer than a quarter of an hour. Time always seems to go slowly in here, and that's why Pansy wants – no, she _needs_ Draco to be here. Where the hell is he, anyway? She glances towards the door again, but, again, there's nothing there.

Sighing, she rests her chin on her hands, wondering if maybe she could glare a hole into the board she can see through Binns' chest. Do ghosts get that weird feeling that someone is watching them? She isn't sure, but she supposes they don't have nerves anymore, so they can't get that feeling. And they probably can't _feel_ anything anymore.

Merlin's balls, she's bored. She sighs restlessly and chances a glance at Zabini. He looks just as bored as she is, and she considers striking up a note-passing conversation with him. As she pulls out a piece of parchment, however, she notices that his attention has already been captured. His dark face suddenly shifts into a smirk as he tosses a ball of parchment across a few of their classmates, pegging Daphne Greengrass in the back of the head.

Pansy watches as Daphne looks up in surprise, sees Blaise, and her lips form a smirk of her own as she undoes the note.

Damnit.

Just then, she hears the all-too-familiar creak of the ancient wooden door. Binns doesn't look up, but Pansy's eyes snap over to discover a familiar blond head ducking into the room. At first, her stomach does a strange, uncharacteristic little flip. Then it promptly drops like a brick of lead, leaving her feeling a bit hollow.

Draco's usually neat-kept hair is slightly touseled, his pale cheeks are just the tiniest bit flushed, and his grey eyes, paired with the curve of his lips, indicate that he is very pleased about _something_. He drops into his usual seat beside her, not even bothering to pull out his textbook. She wants desperately to comment. To say something that alludes to the thoughts running through her head, but she bites her tongue, and the lead in her stomach is starting to boil.

Of course he was late. He was with _her_. That Greengrass whore in the year below them. With her blonde curls, sly eyes, and lineage like that, there was no wonder he'd go for her.

With slightly jerky movements, Pansy undoes the cork on her inkwell and dips her quill inside, furiously scratching away at the clean piece of parchment. She bears down so hard at one point that her quill goes right through, and the ink blots a few times, and she knows that she won't be able to read this later, but it doesn't matter. She pointedly pretends to listen to Binns and his awful monotone, all the while ignoring the boy beside her.

He can smirk all he wants, she assures herself, because he doesn't know what he's missing. Doesn't know how much she could offer him, if only he'd give her another chance. But he won't, and she knows it, so why does she still keep her hopes up?

Maybe, she decides, she's just some sort of masochist.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry for the late upload, I was kidnapped yesterday by some friends. Today's story will be up shortly. And it isn't QUITE the prompt... Ah well. Enjoy!

_August 2nd _

_Albus/Scorpius – Piggyback – You're All I Have – Snow Patrol_

"Al?"

Albus cracks an eye and tips his head in acknowledgement from where he's lounging on the leather arm chair a little ways away. Scorpius doesn't say anything for a moment, which prompts him to reach over and give the boy a little nudge with his foot.

"I can't believe this is our last day," he says finally, letting out a slow sigh, as if this was some terrible secret he'd been holding in for years. Unfortunately, unlike letting out one of those secrets, he doesn't feel liberated afterward. There's just a sense of dread that settles into the pit of his stomach that he can't shake.

"I know," Albus agrees.

They've been at Hogwarts for seven years – almost seven years exactly. The train leaves tomorrow, and Scorpius can't get his head around the fact that they won't be coming back. That this will be their last ride on the Hogwarts Express. He can't imagine not seeing Hogwarts again – not coming back to this dorm, where he's spent seven _years_ of his _life_. It doesn't seem possible. But the reality is slowly starting to set in, and it's, well, terrifying.

"I can't imagine not seeing you every day," he says, breaking the nostalgic, bittersweet silence that has befallen them again. "I don't think I'll be able to stand it." He looks down, his grey yes – inherited from his father – roaming over his hands. He has countless scars on his milky white skin, from the various adventures Albus has led them on. The longest one is quite pronounced, leading from just above his thumb, across the entire back of his hand. That was probably the best adventure they'd had – battling the Whomping Willow to get into the secret passage beneath, because Al's father had told them this _incredible_ story about the passage going all the way to Hogsmeade. Of course, he'd been right, but it wasn't until last year that they'd decided to test it out, and Scorpius had caught the wrong end of one of the tree's thrashing limbs.

He traces the scar fondly, lips twitching into a smile as he remembers that thrill that he always felt with Albus. The idea of not waking up every morning to see him is painful in a way that he can't explain, but it makes his heart squeeze up like someone's trying to crush it.

"Aw, Scor, we'll see each other," Albus says, sitting up and uncrossing his legs. "We'll get together loads. Hell, you could probably live 'round mine, my parents won't mind. They love you."

Scorpius nods again, still not entirely convinced. But suddenly Albus has hoisted him up into his arms, and is grinning a bit deviously.

"Al, what -" he starts, but suddenly he's being carted into their dorm. It isn't until Al rounds the corner into the bathroom that he suddenly understands, and he squirms, trying to loosen his friend's hold. "Albus Potter, you let go of me this instant!" he demands, pushing against Al's chest. It doesn't do any good, however – Albus plays Quidditch, and he's a beater. His muscles are a force to be reckoned with, and Scorpius doesn't stand a chance.

"Only if you say please," Al chimes. "And stop looking so damn depressed." His hand hovers on the tap, then turns the cold water on, full blast.

Scorpius glares at him, but does mutter a 'please' under his breath. He isn't used to having to ask for things.

But, with a smile, Albus kisses him and lets him down.

Right into the stream of cold water.

"Oh, fuck you!"


	3. Chapter 3

_August 3rd_

_Bill/Fleur – Fog – Falling Stars by Sunset Strippers_

Bill has always hated the smell of hospitals. They're so sterile, and the scent is nearly overpowering, for a normal person. But ever since that fight – the one with Greyback – he's had heightened senses, and in-amongst all the flashes of pain on his first night, he's caught overwhelming whiffs of that _stench_. The smell of sickness, of the various medicines. And of course there's the normally gentle buzz of the inner-workings of the hospital itself, but to his ears, the buzz isn't gentle. It's a loud presence in the back of his mind, grinding slowly at his patience until he's so strung out he can't think straight.

He turns restlessly, and his eyes light on the slight form sitting faithfully in the chair beside his bed. She's leaning her delicate chin on her hand, and her eyes are closed. Her breathing is shallow, but he isn't sure if she's asleep. His eyes trace over her, and again, he's struck by just how _beautiful_ she is.

And he'd thought that, after his attack that has his entire face covered in bandages and healing salve, she wouldn't want to be with him anymore. He'd been so surprised when she'd kissed him, despite the large gash across his bottom lip. By all standards, she should be repulsed by him – shouldn't even want to be in the same room. He doesn't _deserve_ this attention that she keeps giving him, and he's half-convinced that she'll realize that, one day. That she won't want him. Because who could love someone like him?

He'd asked her the same question when they were alone, after his family had left.

"I would," she'd whispered in his ear, and kissed the top of his head. Her fingers had trailed through his hair briefly, a gentle touch that made his skin tingle, and then it was gone.

He sighs, turning his eyes away from her at last, to look out the window. It's dark, but he can barely make out the moon behind the thick layer of fog that has fallen over the city. It's almost full, but waning. There's some part of him, deep down, that wants nothing more than to get the hell out of this foul-smelling place. To just _run_, for as long as he can, without stopping.

But something holds him back, and she's sitting right beside him.

He worked so hard for her love, and he'll be damned if he's the one to lose it.


	4. Chapter 4

_August 4th_

_Ernie/Hannah – Snowed In – Satisfied Man (Stephen Kellogg & the Sixers)_

The smile on Hannah's face is enough to make Ernie take back all of the times he's said that he hates the snow. It's all a lie, because the pure joy that is radiating from his fiancé is something that he can't explain. She watches in wonder as the first flakes fall, and as much as he absolutely abhors the feeling of the coldness against his skin, he ventures outside with her, to make her happy. They throw snowballs at one another until their cheeks are red and their noses feel raw, and then they retreat back into their home to sit by the fire and sip hot chocolate, in the cheesiest, corniest way possible. They lay together, warmed by the enchanted fire in the fireplace, nestled comfortably in each others' arms. Hannah's head is resting on his shoulder, and suddenly Ernie realizes that he's never felt this content in his life. He finds himself absently touching the ring on her finger, and he smiles as he looks out the window to find the snow already starting to pile into drifts. He's never been properly snowed in before. Hannah will be so surprised when she wakes up. With her laying there, he's torn somewhere between going to sleep along with her, and watching her, because she's so beautiful. Eventually though, slumber gets the better of him, and his eyes slip closed, easing him blissfully into contentment.


	5. Chapter 5

_August 5_

_Ginny/Dean – Earth – You Make My Dreams (Hall & Oates)_

She's always hated Herbology. Sure, it deals with things that require you to be outdoors, which she likes, but everything else about it? Ew. She hates getting her hands dirty, for one thing. The dirt always gets under her nails, and it stays there, so that for the rest of the day, she has to feel that strange stinging sensation until she can get back to the dorm for a shower. It leaves her hands feeling funny, as well, like they've been soaked in something that smells bad.

Unfortunately, her marks in Herbology aren't that great, as a result. She's been roped into doing some extra credit assignment for Madame Sprout, out of necessity, because she does _not_ want a Howler from her mum. She remembers when Ron had one, back in her first year, and embarrassment like that is enough incentive for her to dig around in the dirt a little more. Still, she looks longingly towards the door of the greenhouse, wishing desperately to be outside, rather than in here, where it's stuffy, hot, and everything smells like fertilizer.

She directs her eyes back to the plant in front of her – a baby Devil's Snare. She's been instructed to repot it, and that is very difficult business, actually. She has to be careful, or the plant might try and take a finger off. It does like to do that. Of course, it really can't do much damage, but she really doesn't want to ruin this project by fighting off the subject material. So, she carefully sets to work getting the new, larger pot prepared, very quickly getting absorbed in the task at hand.

Ginny doesn't notice that someone else enters the greenhouse. Doesn't notice that he approaches her. Doesn't even realize that he's right behind her until she feels a pair of arms encircle her waist, and she starts, letting out a loud shriek and whirling around to face her assailant.

"Dean!" she exclaims, promptly hitting him on the shoulder with her fist. "Don't _do_ that, you scared me!"

He laughs, kissing her forehead. "Sorry," he apologizes.

"What are you doing here?" Ginny turns around again to keep working on her project, only to see that the heat lamp above the station has turned on, as a result from the sudden burst of surprised magic from her. "Shit!" She quickly turns it off, but the plant has already shriveled, recoiling from the light. "Look what you made me do!"

Dean shrugs, leaning over her to gently take the pot. He digs his fingers down into the earth and lifts the plant out carefully, then puts it in the larger pot. "Just put it in the shade, Gin, it'll be fine," he assures her.

Some part of her feels as though she should doubt him, but then – he is in the year above her. He probably knows all about repotting Devil's Snare. So she decides to trust him, and carefully starts to pat the soil down around the base of the plant.

"Not like that," he interjects, and suddenly his hands are covering hers, the soil mingling between them, trapped in between their skin as he shows her not to pack it too tightly, so the roots can have some room to breathe. "Plants are living things too, you know."

Once the plant has successfully been repotted and stowed in the darkest corner of the greenhouse they can find, Dean shows her just how sorry he is about scaring her. And for the first time, she's pretty sure that she doesn't mind the feeling of dirt under her nails. It really isn't so bad after all.


End file.
